


An Echo or a Prophecy

by thatsoccercoach



Category: Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Loss, Processing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-30 02:21:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15086930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsoccercoach/pseuds/thatsoccercoach
Summary: Five-year-old Claire Beauchamp tries to cope with the loss of her parents and all that comes along with that.





	An Echo or a Prophecy

                                                       

She could still remember the sterility of it all. She sat beside her uncle on a cold, hard pew. The wood was aged and worn by the many people who had come and gone before her. Maybe some were grieving as she was.

Her dress was scratchy and her shoes pinched her toes. Someone had said it was the only suitable thing she had, the drab, dark grey thing that she hated and the shoes that her father had said they’d replace because his girl was growing into such a young lady. The lace at the collar scratched something awful. Her mother had pinned a thin piece of soft cloth over the itchy seams, but Claire supposed it had come out the last time the dress had been laundered and now her mother wasn’t here any longer to take care of it.

The smell of sulfur from the matches that had been used to light the acolytes’ flames lingered in the air. If she closed her eyes she could smell it tinging the edge of everything. It mingled with the wax from the altar candles and the sickly sweet smell of flowers and incense. It filled her nose and made her eyes burn. Or maybe it was the tears that did that. It would cling to her for days, even after they left the church.

The words of the priest raised, bouncing around the sanctuary, echoing in the room and in her soul. Though her parents had brought her to mass on the holidays, Claire couldn’t fully grasp what was happening, even if she had understood the Latin.

Uncle Lamb sat stiffly beside her that day. She felt him shudder, shiver once, and looked over to see a tear streak down his face. _He wasn’t sad because of her, was he? Because he had to take care of her now and nobody else would do it?_ She began to weep in earnest then, unable to process any more. Fighting to understand what had happened already.

Her parents. Gone in a car crash that she’d somehow survived. Bruised and sore, she’d emerged the lone survivor in a heartless battle against death.

The uncle she barely knew who was supposed to raise her now.

Home. The place she’d been born and the place where they lived and loved.

Then she felt his arms come about her awkwardly, but tenderly. He settled her small shaking body in his lap and patted her hesitantly on the back, crooning softly to her. And when she finally settled enough to hear once more, she received the words she’d hear more than twenty years later, variations on a theme, that would change the course of her life.

Those words. An echo or a prophecy?

_“There, Claire. I have you. You don’t need to be scared. Not of me or anyone else as long as I’m with you.”_


End file.
